


Trust Fall

by staranon



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranon/pseuds/staranon
Summary: Has he thought about dating Michael? Yes. Has he thought about how bad it might be? Yes. Did he still want to throw caution to the wind? Yes. God yes.-After a heist goes wrong, Gavin finds himself limping along with Michael trying to get to a safehouse. Tensions are high and both are nearly at each other's throats, but when situations get hard like this, it's not uncommon for personal confessions to bubble their way up to the surface.





	Trust Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marshmallowsweetheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowsweetheart/gifts).



> Secret Santa gift for marshmallosweetheart on the RT writer's discord
> 
> i hope you enjoy it!

They’d been separated from the others. A job had gone wrong and suddenly they’d been forced to separate, to run and leave behind the cash until the cops had lost track of them. The fray had been messy, and in their haste, they’d taken to the streets, left behind their escape vehicle in the confusion and went forward on foot. They were injured, they were bruised, and Gavin was pretty sure he had twisted his ankle coming off of the roof, jumping down from the ladder in his haste and landed solidly on his right ankle.

And now he was regretting it.

 _“Ow, ow, ow._ ”

He had his arm slung over Michael’s shoulders, Michael pulling him along as fast as he could.  

 _“Shut up,”_ Michael hissed.

He was speaking through clenched teeth. Gavin could tell. But he couldn’t help it. It was an involuntary reaction and his ankle really did hurt. Michael would tell him to ‘suck it up, you whiney baby’ and Gavin would only complain all the louder, but their circumstances required them to act different than they were.

“Just prop me up on the wall there,” Gavin said. They needed a break.

At the end of the alley, Michael left Gavin propped up against the brick wall. He leaned back and lifted his weight off of his right leg. He could feel his heartbeat in his ankle. It felt hot, encased in flame. Michael took a few steps forward to look around the corner to see if the coast was clear.

“Where’s your apartment again?” he asked.

Gavin lifted a handed and waved if off in some general direction. “The big tall one there.”

“Yeah, thanks, asshole. There’s like a hundred big tall ones.”

“Well, the bigger one then.”

Michael sighed. “That’s like five fucking blocks from here. We’re never going to make it.”

“Well, it’s that or sleep on the street and that doesn’t sound too appealing now does it?”

Michael huffed loudly, hands on his hips. “Fine. _Fine._ Let’s go.”

He came back to Gavin’s side and helped him away from the wall. It would be a harrowing trip up to Gavin’s apartment. It was the closest they had to a safe house where they could lie low and wait until this all blew over. But who knew how long it would take until it was all clear? How long would they have to be together?

The thing is—they didn’t even hate each other. They got short with each other countless times, especially when Gavin learned that even the simplest thing could set him off. Flicking a glass repeatedly. A squeaky chair as Gavin rocked back and forth. It was so funny to watch him try to remain motionless only to lose it when Gavin _wouldn’t stop._ Their friendship, relationship _whatever_ was complicated. It teetered on the edge of a mix between brothers and beleaguered lovers having a spat and _needing some time apart,_ as if that wasn’t code for ‘It’s not you. It’s me.’

They hobbled along down the streets. It wasn’t out of place to see someone injured on the streets in Los Santos, but they needed to keep a low profile. They had to stay off the main streets with the cops out looking for them, but that was impossible. They had to get to his apartment.

“D’you suppose Geoff n’ Jack went for the yacht?” he asked. Gavin had a habit of not knowing when to keep his mouth shut. Silent meant something was wrong. Silence meant someone was angry. Silence meant _death._ It was a pretty steep slope that Gavin tried to avoid as much as he could, but in stressful times he would often over talk. Fill the silence because he didn’t like it and he needed confirmation that he wasn’t dead or dying.

Michael, however, was different. In good times, he was loud and brash—over confident, really. Feeding off of everyone else’s adrenaline. But in a situation like this, he fed off of people’s fear, their anxiety and retreated into himself. That’s why they weren’t _good_ for each other. Not fully. They’d tried to make it work. They rotated around each other in the past, but they could never click together. Not in the way Gavin wanted them too.

By some unseen miracle—possibly due to the fact that Gavin lived in a pretty quiet neighbourhood—they made it to the building. It was two in the morning by the time the elevator arrived to Gavin’s floor. Most people were asleep. The hallways were empty. It was easy for them to get to Gavin’s apartment and lock themselves inside. As soon as the door was closed, Michael stepped away from him and left Gavin on his own.

Sure. Michael wasn’t to most tactile of people when it came to treating injuries and caring for injured crew members. That was better left to Jeremy and Jack. But Michael could just be a tad bit warmer, instead of leaving Gavin to unlace his shoe and slide it off his swollen ankle, tossing the sock off a moment latter. And then it was an awkward hop to the kitchen so he could get something cold from the freezer and bring it back to the couch.

Once he was stretched out on the couch, bag of frozen veggies wrapped up in a tea towel thrown on his ankle, Gavin shrugged deeper into his sweater and shut his eyes. Maybe he’d get sleep tonight. Just _maybe—_

His leg was lifted and propped up onto a pillow. There was a dip at the other end of the couch. Gavin opened his eyes and saw Michael settling himself onto the cushion. He had his head propped up on his first, his arm resting on the armrest of the couch. He had the TV remote and turned it on, immediately muting the volume just so he could focus on the colours, the vivid images.

“S’posed to prop it up,” he said. “Less swelling that way.”

It was the most he’d said all night and Gavin wondered if he was softening at the edges.

“Well . . . thanks.” Those were the only words that tumbled out. Gavin was good at jibber jabbering, but he often found himself floundering in the face of kindness and consideration. He was a jokester half the time. He hardly meant to be taken seriously, and maybe that’s why he’d do what he does. Annoy people he liked because he had no other way of voicing his emotions. Didn’t know how.

“Don’t want you thinking I don’t care,” Michael said after a few moments of dead silence. “I know . . . I know we get on each other’s nerves. We’re not, not good at talking and the mushy stuff.”

“No, we ain’t,” Gavin said. He stretched out a bit further on the couch, and Michael rested his hand on Gavin’s good ankle.

“But I’m willing to try it if you want to.”

Gavin fumbled for a pillow on the ground and picked it up. He held it over his stomach so he had something to fiddle with—something to distract him. He didn’t reply for some time and eventually Michael took his hand away from his ankle

“It’s not that I don’t want to try,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “It’s just that I don’t know where to start. We’ve been at it for so long now.”

Has he thought about dating Michael? Yes. Has he thought about how bad it might be? Yes. Did he still want to throw caution to the wind? Yes. _God yes._

Michael was fire—red hot and glowing, destructive at times. But warm and gentle, too. When he was calm enough. And like a moth, Gavin would always be drawn to him.

“You remember when we were up on Maze Bank?” Michael said. “You were standing at the edge and you kept saying how high up we were and how scared you were. But you’d still get as close as you could to the edge. So then I stepped up and I was saying how you were going to fall and you kept saying no. So I just gave you a little nudge with my hand, and you stumbled back, and you _screamed_ so loud, but I had a good grip on your arm, and I kept saying you were going to be all right. And I pulled you right back onto the platform and you held into me so tight I swear you left bruises.”

Gavin remembered that day. It had been a single moment of terror followed by absolute thankfulness that sank down through his entire body when Michael had held onto him and didn’t let go.

“Didn’t _leave_ bruises,” he said.

“Yeah, you fucking did,” Michael said and there was lightness to his tone.

Gavin moved the pillow and tucked it under his head, propping himself up a bit so he could look at Michael. Michael turned his head away from the TV and looked down at him, returning his hand to Gavin’s leg and rubbing up and down smoothly.

“You wouldn’t ever let something happen to me,” Gavin said.

And Michael said, “No. I wouldn’t. I want . . . I want to try at least. With you. Better this time.”

Gavin didn’t really know what that meant or what they needed to work towards. But he was sure of one thing. That Michael was, for better or for worse, everything that Gavin was looking for.

 


End file.
